


The Accidental Matchmaker

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the best intentions are no intentions at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accidental Matchmaker

The Accidental Matchmaker

After the destruction of Vulcan and the subsequent launch of the fleet’s finest starship, Commander Spock found himself in something of an unexpected and entirely unwelcome quandary.

Being Vulcan, he was reluctant to admit that the cause was primarily emotional in nature, but—again, because he was a Vulcan—he found that he was also utterly unable to ignore the facts as he saw them. Naturally this made his position difficult, but in the face of the issue at hand he believed being less than an ideal Vulcan was a somewhat minor problem in comparison. And, truly, that thought alone showed how much he had been affected by the events of just weeks past—that, for some reason, being Vulcan was no longer the most important thing. The revelation made him uncertain and unable to logically handle what was a very serious emotional lapse on his part; that is, he found himself unable to appropriately deal with his unnecessary grudge against Captain Kirk.

Even if the Captain had not been Spock’s direct superior, this would still have been an inexcusable transgression. Vulcans simply did not hold grudges; it was illogical, since such things tended to promote senseless wars more often than not and Vulcans generally held the belief that no action was ever truly unforgivable. Whether this opinion had changed since the destruction of their planet, Spock was uncertain, but as the product of his culture he still found the merest possibility of lingering resentment distasteful. Given his _feelings_ about the matter and the fact that it was truly illogical, Spock expected the issue to disappear moderately quickly; after all, it was ridiculous to assume that it was something that professionalism and control could not overcome.

After three point two weeks, the issue had not disappeared.

Although Spock was not the type to place blame, he couldn’t help but feel as if it was somehow the Captain’s fault. Spock had been the soul of courtesy and respect, a practitioner of regulations and logic since the start of the journey and yet…yet somehow, the Captain had found a way to impose his own illogic into any given situation, thereby causing Spock’s careful plans and orders to fail. The Captain was irresponsible, impulsive, flippant, and often unconcerned with the matters of others, and it showed in his command style; in short, the Captain had a personality that made him utterly unfitting to be in command of such a large vessel.  Even if Spock had not formed his initial impression of Captain Kirk while the man was still a cadet, these facts would still remain, and Spock had never been able to ignore the facts. His resentment only increased, and the situation—however repugnant Spock found it—might have continued indefinitely had the Captain been anyone else. But as it was…Spock was unable to ignore the facts. And the most important fact of the matter was that James T. Kirk had a tendency to make the exactly _wrong_ first impression on everyone he met, and then proceed to change their opinion completely in a relatively short period of time.

For Spock, this meant approximately seven point six weeks into their expedition—or nine point two weeks after he had first met Cadet Kirk—and when the change came about, Spock found himself quite ashamed to have ever doubted the Captain’s intentions, if not his methods. Naturally, Spock could remember the exact minute when he changed his mind, exactly when he began to analyze Captain Kirk rather than still seeing the impetuous, rude, interruptive Cadet Kirk of months ago. He could only regret the circumstances that led up to his change of opinion were as unfortunate as they were, but all the same, he acknowledged that it was necessary in order to alter his view and—more importantly—it was a necessary experience for every Captain.

To be more specific, Captain Kirk showed himself to be a man worthy of respect the moment he had to order a member of his crew to their death.

Not that it was a surprising event to Spock in itself; the situation was quite dire. The amoeba was massive and more than a little terrifying to Spock’s human comrades as it consumed everything in its path, every life-giving energy that humanoid creatures needed to sustain their lives. As it passed the border of what would have been considered Vulcan space, Spock found himself oddly relieved to know that his planet’s destruction had at least allowed his species some small mercy from the organism in the event the Enterprise was unable to stop it.

And the Enterprise would be unable to stop it; of this, Spock had no doubt.

Captain Kirk, however, was unable to leave the matter as the inevitable loss it was, and he made the decision to fight a creature that was larger than the planet Earth. For perhaps the first time, Spock found himself almost admiring the refusal to give up in the face of insurmountable odds, even if he believed at the same time that the Captain’s refusal would lead them all to their deaths. Spock was still reflecting on the obvious contradiction long after his mind had realized there was only one logical step for the Captain to take, long after the Captain had announced his plan—loudly and unnecessarily—to the bridge and left to implement it. Spock followed him dutifully, picking up the scattered details as he went.

As ideas went, it was relatively simple: they needed to know more about this creature in order to defeat it, and who better to find the relevant scientific facts than the head science officer? It was only logical, and the Captain did bow to logic on occasion, at least when there was no other obvious choice. The Captain did so then—but in a way that Spock had not expected.

Spock knew he was not subtle about his dislike of Captain Kirk; he had expected it to be returned, even if the Captain was too aware of his own emotions and his rank to show it outright. However, when Captain Kirk ordered him to the shuttle bay for the necessary research, Spock saw only sorrow—deep sorrow carefully contained by a sense of resignation and a will to do what he must. Kirk’s farewell spoke of regret of things that could have been, and his voice easily conveyed the pain he felt at having to send someone he considered brilliant and admired completely to an almost certain death.

Spock wasn’t certain why, but it baffled him, and continued to do so long after the resulting defeat of the organism, and the rescue of himself even at the cost of the ship. He felt as though he had just seen Kirk for the first time although he knew it was illogical, and he began to change his reactions accordingly. When the Captain smiled at him, Spock—although he could not bring himself to smile back—did not stiffen and turn away as he once had. When the Captain clapped him affectionately on the back or shoulder, Spock raised his mental shields but did not flinch. When the Captain asked him for a report, Spock did not assume that it was Cadet Kirk judging his work. When the Captain said “good morning,” every morning, Spock actually said the greeting in return.

To Spock’s continued and oddly pleasant surprise, the Captain smiled thirty seven percent more as a result, and Spock’s grudge completely disappeared.

****

Given the monumental occurrence required to change his opinion of the Captain, Spock found it strange that it took only small things to alter it a bit more.

The Captain, as it turned out, was not only a decent Captain, but a decent man. When he was not reacting to what he perceived as an attack, he smiled and joked with the crew while still managing to keep it strictly in a professional sense. He memorized the names of all four hundred and twenty eight of his subordinates, something that was quite impressive for a mere human, and went a step farther to memorize individual interests and hobbies—details which Spock himself was not aware of. And, although his diplomatic sense would likely never be perfect, the Captain became more skilled and somewhat calmer as time passed, causing fewer disturbances and resulting in fewer injuries among both the crew and the mission-particular natives. It was these things—and many others—that caused Spock to feel something almost like affection for the Captain, an almost-feeling that Spock kept strictly to himself.

And then one night, the Captain challenged him to a game of chess.

Spock, who had never been able to find a suitable partner even at the academy, found it a bit odd that the Captain would wish to lose, and accepted the challenge. He was both pleased and annoyed to find that the Captain was his match in more ways than one. Spock—who had been unbeaten for thirteen years—suddenly found himself losing as much he won and the challenge as well as the good company made the experience less humiliating and more enjoyable than he ever would have expected. Their casual games soon became a scheduled event that occurred once a week, twice a week, and then almost nightly.

Although he had not expected it, Spock often found himself missing theses games when duty or an emergency interfered with their plans, and he knew from Jim’s wry smile that he felt the same. The fact that Jim never willingly cancelled—not even to spend time with one of his many female companions—made Spock doubly certain of this, and that fact brought Spock to another one of Jim’s good qualities: never, in the course of almost a year in space, did the Captain seduce any of his crew. Although the same could not be said for some of the beings they’d encountered—Spock doubted anyone would forget the Yyslimien princess in the near future, after all— the fact that the Captain did not engage in sexual acts with any of his crew pleased Spock greatly for reasons he accepted but did not examine too closely.

Nyota found it more than a little amusing on the one occasion he brought it up, although she would not explain why.

“Spock,” she said in her honeyed voice while she tuned the lyre he kept safe in his cabin, a secret smile on her lips. “I think you need to repeat that.”

He did, and she smiled wider.

“Do you know _why_ that is?”

Of course Spock knew.

“It would not be professional for the Captain to engage in sexual acts with his crew. It could be construed as sexual harassment, and there are several regulations against the idea.”

She laughed. Spock had always found her laughter pleasing, but this time he felt she was—as Jim had said once—“poking fun at him.”

“Spock. You’ll forgive me if I don’t explain, but I think we need to spread it around that we’ve stopped dating.”

As they were of a similar intelligence, it was rare that Nyota confused him as she did then. Spock simply watched her in puzzlement as she gently placed the instrument in the case beside his bed.

“Nyota, we have enjoyed a purely platonic relationship for the past two months. You yourself recommended that we continue on as we were.”

Her argument had been reasonable, and based on the belief that they would work best if others did not perceive either as “available.” Spock had seen the logic—at least in Nyota’s case—and agreed. The fact that she was now changing her mind with no explanation struck him as odd, and quite out of character.

She continued to smile, although this time it was accompanied by an affectionate pat on his shoulder. Her amusement and affection brushed against him like a warm wind.

“I know. I just think that maybe people should know that you and I are no longer together.”

Spock could only surmise that Nyota was romantically interested in someone on-board, and agreed.

It was two days before Captain Kirk heard about their “break-up,” and when Jim rubbed a hand comfortingly across his shoulders with a soft “I’m sorry, buddy” that did strange things to the equilibrium of his body, Spock wondered if maybe Nyota hadn’t had other ideas. Spock did not get a chance to ask her in the following weeks, however, as the Enterprise was flooded with one complicated mission after another, and following that, the passing of many of the more-celebrated Terran holidays. Spock gathered this meant that the Captain was finally confident enough in his command to risk ship-wide celebrations rather than the somewhat expected shore leave, and didn’t think much on it beyond this fact.

Of course, Spock hadn’t known quite how… _intrusive_ some of the holidays could be.

Given Spock’s general privacy and the fact that his mother had adhered to the Vulcan way quite strictly, he had never before had the opportunity to view these celebrations, and he was surprised to find himself wanting to do so now, at least from a reasonable distance. The crew—and the Captain especially—seemed to find his detachment completely unacceptable, however, and endeavored to pull him into every celebratory side activity they could find. In some cases—Christmas, for one—this was quite a lot.

Spock was surprised to find his research oddly enjoyable, if time consuming. However—not surprisingly—Spock did find himself watching Jim the closest, although he convinced himself it was because of the Captain’s generally gregarious nature rather than any vested personal interest. Through his observation—both professional and personal—Spock quickly deemed Halloween strange, Thanksgiving well-intentioned, Christmas interesting, and New Years oddly appropriate.

It was St. Valentine’s Day that Spock was having a problem with.

As with all of the previous holidays, Spock made an attempt at preliminary research before the holiday occurred. However, the research he did a week before the fact—when consolidated with the actual activities—made absolutely no sense. The holiday seemed to be a combination of Christianity and Roman history. According to various sources, Christianity had three saints named Valentine or some variation thereof, and all of them were martyred. Rome was said to have had a saint named Valentine who married lovers in secret, and was beheaded for it. Other stories told of a saint who helped Christians escape prison, and he was then put to death for this crime instead. Others still made reference to an infatuation with a prison guard’s daughter, and the resulting death; Spock wasn’t sure how to form an opinion on the myths, but he decided that St. Valentine’s Day must be one of the more religious Earth holidays.

How this translated into chocolate and heart-shaped cards with glitter, he could not have guessed.

At first, Spock was quietly amused; the day seemed filled with much blushing and stammering not unlike young children realizing they liked their classmates in a new, never-before-felt way. On Vulcan, the experience of first affection had been acknowledged by some sort of compliment of a student’s intelligence, as compliments were rare and often considered unnecessary for such a logical people. On Earth, it appeared the experience was marked by much fanfare and romanticism of the cardiovascular system; illogical, but certainly amusing. More notably, it was the first holiday that the crew seemed almost embarrassed to include him in, enabling him to catch up on the flow of work that he had let fall almost behind in the past several months. Spock imagined it would be a very productive day.

However, when Spock returned to his quarters for the midday meal and saw a simple red envelope tucked neatly under the number outside his door, his plan to work through the available quarter hour abruptly vanished. Curious, Spock plucked it from where it was innocently resting, and then entered his quarters to examine it, marveling at the oddity all the while. Thankfully, the missive was of a more tasteful variety than the ones he had already seen that morning—white with red trim, and in a four by five inch rectangular shape that in no way resembled a human vascular organ. He brushed his fingers lightly against the embossed cover, judged it to be an unnecessary expense, and opened the thick card, eyes skimming quickly.

What he read inside made his pulse increase by fifteen percent and his hands—of all things—almost began to shake before he exercised Vulcan control and forced them to still.

_I know this might not be your thing—believe me, I can tell a non-romantic when I see one. But all the same, I hope you’ll hear me out and maybe—just maybe—you’ll feel the same._

_I think of you all the time—I even dream of you (in a non-creepy way.) I like everything about you, I like the time we spend together, I like every quirk you have and every time I see you on the bridge, I feel like I’m going to be sick—in a **good** way. Christ, I’m no good at this, so I’ll just keep this short—I think I’m in love with you, and now is as good a time as any to say it._

_I know you’ve just gotten out of a relationship, and probably don’t want to start another one; that’s okay. I just want to talk about it, have dinner, drink some wine with you—no commitments or fast moves—in my cabin tonight. If you don’t come, I’ll understand, and we can still be friends, or not. It’s up to you._

_But I really, really hope you’ll come. And if you don’t…happy Valentine’s Day._

It was hardly the most effluent of letters, and if Spock had ever come across a more awkward or embarrassed phrasing, he didn’t know it. But all the same, he had to sit down, and he was more than a little appalled at how his breathing had sped up and his face had begun to flush. Perhaps the holiday wasn’t so amusing after all.

Spock glanced at the card again, noted that the message had been typed rather than printed and that there was no signature in sight. Spock found he didn’t need one; illogical hope had already told him the name of the sender, and he was in no shape to deny it.

For several minutes Spock sat there, perfectly still and oddly anxious, until his internal time sense righted itself and he hurriedly put the card away. Spock could only trust that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt as he hurried back to the bridge to complete his shift.

****

Spock was relieved that the remaining two hours of Beta shift passed relatively quietly, without any emergencies or malfunctions of any kind. Although he would ignore such accusations if they ever came up, Spock found himself functioning at only eighty nine percent of his normal efficiency, and the idea was almost frightening and certainly embarrassing. He had to read the results of their normal, simple planetary scan twice. _Twice._ The Captain had smiled and not commented, but there had been a worried look on his face for seven point two minutes, and it had remained even after they left orbit. As a result, Spock somewhat expected it when the Captain approached him as soon as the Enterprise was back on course, and, while he normally would have stood out of respect, this time he did not.

Spock was absurdly uncertain if his legs would hold him.

Unfortunately, the Captain noticed this breach of habit, and his face became even more concerned.

“Mister Spock? Are you…feeling okay?”

Normally Spock would have replied with a line about how Vulcans did not “feel okay;” this time, he only swallowed against the rasp in his throat and answered simply.

“I am well, Captain.”

The Captain just stared at him for a minute before nodding, seemingly having come to the same conclusion himself. The look of relief on Jim’s face pleased him more than he had expected, but for once, Spock acknowledged the sensation for what it was. Spock acknowledged that he was pleased when Jim was at peace, and that the correlation had existed for several months.

“Okay. Okay. If you’re sure.”

This time Spock raised an eyebrow and responded normally—he couldn’t help it.

“Captain, Vulcans are always “sure” within an acceptable error margin.”

“Of course, Mister Spock.” Normalcy restored, Spock watched as the Captain shook his head fondly and turned to walk away. Halfway to the center chair, however, he turned back.

“Oh, and Mister Spock? I was wondering if you’d like to come to my quarters this evening around, say, twenty-one hundred hours?”

For a moment, Spock wondered why Jim would invite him both in person and through a medium, but he dismissed it quickly. The Captain always had—and likely always would—follow a different set of social rules than his peers. It was one of the characteristics that made the Jim so fascinating.

“Of course, Captain.”

The Captain smiled.

****

Immediately after Beta shift ended, Spock hurried to his quarters for much needed mediation. He had not expected it to be necessary so soon after his morning reflection, but as the shift continued on, Spock had become more and more aware of where the Captain was at any given moment. It was…alarming, and possibly unhealthy—certainly unusual for a Vulcan. As a result, Spock took the first opportunity to attempt a deeper, more effective form of meditation than the sort his schedule usually permitted, and he meditated late into the evening without interruption.

After four point six hours, Spock was somewhat calmer and more reasonable, enough so that he felt prepared for the upcoming meeting. He tried to look at the situation logically, without emotionalism, and he found that it helped as much as it always had. After all, Jim was Jim, a person with a set nature; whatever other factors there might be, Jim would be kind in his own way, and certainly understanding of Spock’s misgivings. There was no reason not to expect the evening to pass in a practical, peaceful manner. No reason at all. And if Spock still felt somewhat uncertain for reasons he could not identify, surely the feeling would fade when he was once again faced with his friend.

At exactly twenty hundred hours, Spock began to prepare. Not one to give much thought to his appearance, Spock was not certain how exactly one “prepared” for a romantic meeting, and so he found himself with three quarters of an hour left to re-examine the missive he had received; it was called a valentine, as he had learned.

After each examination, his confidence increased. The affection and honesty were plain to see; Spock had no reason to feel uncertain. And if he continued to check the valentine exactly once every four minutes to see that his memory was in fact correct, he imagined that was normal for these occasions, and accepted it.

At exactly twenty hundred fifty eight, Spock tucked the much-read valentine inside his clothing and left his cabin before moving smoothly down the hallway to the Captain’s quarters. While the normal arrangement of First and Captain’s quarters was currently impossible as their originally assigned quarters were still being repaired after a recent encounter with a Klingon battle cruiser, Spock found the short walk oddly agreeable on this night. It provided him with just enough distance from his personal matters to enable him to keep his face blank as he acknowledged a few passing crew members, and it meant that his confidence about the situation did not falter until he was standing outside Jim’s door.

Spock pressed the electronic entry button, suddenly uncertain. Was he supposed to enter as a friend, with just an announcement before he let himself in? Or was he supposed to enter as a guest, and wait patiently for Jim to answer the chime? After only a moment’s thought, Spock decided to err on the side of caution and remained where he was. He only had to wait for eighteen point four seconds before the doors quietly opened.

Jim appeared on the other side, looking casual and somewhat surprised.

“Spock? Why didn’t you just come in?”

Spock answered honestly, unconsciously stiffening before he forced his shoulders to relax.

“I…wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate.”

Jim beamed, the expression both pleased and somehow self-degrading. Spock wondered how Jim was always able to reflect self-doubt with merely a look, but decided it was irrelevant; the Captain was confident enough in both his professional and personal life for all practical purposes.

“Oh, you mean the Valentine’s Day thing? Don’t worry—no one here but us.”

Spock had never doubted it, but he didn’t say anything, merely entering into the well-known cabin while Jim moved towards his liquor cabinet.

“Can I get you anything? Brandy, ale, rum, scotch?” Jim tossed the question over his shoulder as he always had, and Spock was calmed by the feeling of normality. Of course Jim had been honest when he said they could just stay friends; still, the reassurance was a great comfort, and Spock, in a moment of boldness, settled himself on the nearby couch rather than at the chess table as he normally would have.

“No, thank you. Jim.”

Jim turned towards him, his own glass of amber liquid in hand. If he seemed surprised by the change in the normal seating arrangement, he didn’t show it.

“ _Jim_ , huh? Normally I have to twist your arm to get you to stop calling me ‘captain’ or ‘sir’ _._ Feeling the Valentine’s Day spirit, huh?”

Spock didn’t correct him on his use of the word “feeling.” Rather, he allowed his lips to twitch up at the corners. A slight smile, just for Jim.

“As you say, sir.”

Jim laughed and sat next to him, facing him with his legs crossed and a bright smile on his face. The atmosphere was easy, familiar…but then, Spock had been at ease with Jim for a very long time.

They sat in silence for a moment, Jim simply swirling his drink while Spock tried not to focus on the heat warming him from the inside. It was illogical—Vulcans had perfect control of their body systems. There was no heat…and yet Spock felt it.

Another beat of silence, and then Jim looked at him, expression almost concerned.

“You seem tense. Well, more than usual. Is something wrong?”

This was it; the time to be forthright, to show Jim that he accepted his proposal and was…glad of it. But he found the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he simply pulled the card from where it was stored, and handed it to Jim without a sound.

Jim looked confused, but he opened it wordlessly, eyes darting around the surface quickly. When he finished looking at the card, however, his face was completely and carefully blank. Spock watched as Jim swallowed his drink down in one gulp and then made to move away, his movements rapid and erratic.

Spock was puzzled, but remained seated.

“I would guess, then, that you found this around…lunchtime?”

Spock wondered why it was relevant, but answered regardless.

“Yes, Jim.”

“Outside your quarters?”

Spock wanted to say that Jim knew very well where he’d found it, but he didn’t. He was somewhat confused, but an explanation was starting to form in his mind. It was an explanation that he very much wanted to deny, and he did so—surely he could not have been mistaken in this.

“Yes, Jim.”

“Ah.” Jim poured himself another drink, drank it quickly, and poured himself a third. Spock watched, more than a little alarmed; Jim never drank excessively while on board, since he never wanted to be incapacitated in the event of an emergency. It was highly out of character for him to do otherwise.

Thankfully, Jim just hunched over the third glass rather than drinking it; his posture indicated despair, and it concerned Spock enough that he stood and approached him slowly. However, when he reached out a hand to touch Jim’s shoulder in a reassuring and questioning manner—something that he would usually never have dared to do—his hand was immediately slapped away.

Well then.

Spock turned to go, certain that he had somehow misread the situation beyond repair, but Jim turned to him with regret on his face almost immediately.

“Hell, Spock, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to do that. Reflexes, you know?”

Spock didn’t know, but he didn’t think it was important at the moment. His mind, in its usual efficient manner, was compartmentalizing all of the facts, and none of the conclusions were good.

 _Does he regret giving it to me?_ His behavior would certainly suit that, but his reaction to the card’s contents—as if he’d never seen them before—didn’t fit. _Does he not remember giving it to me?_ If so, the situation was worse than Spock expected. He would have to observe further and, if necessary, contact Dr. McCoy—memory lapse in someone so young was very serious. _Did he not mean it? Was it…a joke?_ Spock felt sick at the thought, but dismissed it almost immediately. Jim would never, _could never_ , be so cruel to a friend. Many more possibilities swirled in his mind, each being analyzed and dismissed as quickly as possible.

The worst of them, however, repeated itself again and again in a tiny, uncertain voice.

_Was it meant for someone else? Was it an accident?_

Spock didn’t want to consider it, but his mind was unwilling to let it go. Thankfully, Jim didn’t ask him to explain his thoughts. If anything, he seemed to be trying to talk enough that Spock wouldn’t _have_ to say anything, which Spock found odd; babbling was also not in Jim’s character.

“Well, I don’t want to try and give you advice, or anything, but these Valentine’s Day things—I mean, when you’re in space, things seem a little—well, of course _you_ know, but I wouldn’t think you, of all people…”

Jim trailed off, his face going oddly pale and pensive for a moment before he took a deep breath, eyed the Valentine with something that couldn’t possibly have been _loathing_ , and continued. Although Jim hadn’t stopped moving since Spock had mistakenly tried to touch him, he stopped then, slapping the Valentine on his desk before settling himself into his office chair.

When he finally looked up, his smile was brittle. Spock couldn’t fathom why.

“Well. First things first, in any case. Best to do the Captain thing and get it over with, right?”

Spock felt his tension disappear. Of course. Of course Jim would want to make certain a relationship was possible with accordance with Starfleet policy, if the relationship was serious enough. Of course; his behavior made perfect sense.

Relieved beyond measure that his concerns had apparently been unnecessary, Spock quietly settled into the chair opposite the Captain’s desk.

Jim grabbed the Valentine, and held it up.

“You accepted this?”

His voice was casual; Spock swallowed, and answered in as official a manner as he could, although he believed the answer was obvious.

“Affirmative.”

Jim looked…alarmed, and something else. The expression disappeared as soon as the Captain looked away, staring at the surface of his desk.

“And of course you know that there are regulations against these things.”

Spock nodded shortly; he had reviewed them extensively prior to this meeting, in the event that his eidetic memory failed him under the circumstances. It had never happened before, but he couldn’t overlook the possibility when several other occurrences that day had been without precedent.

“Affirmative.”

Now Jim looked angry. No, he was definitely angry; Spock straightened a little in surprise, utterly uncertain as to _why_.

“And you’re… _you’re_ willing to _break regulations_ over this?”

The tone did not match the question. Spock answered very quickly; his mind had, once again, begun analyzing the situation.

“No, Captain. I am certain that none of them apply.”

Jim smiled that grim smile a second time.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. The Starfleet Code of Conduct has only three regulations regarding this situation, and I have examined them carefully.”

Spock paused, and Jim gestured for him to continue.

“Regulation 2115.6, section A, concerns only relations that have a potential to affect the operation of the ship when engaged in missions or battle, and I am convinced this is not a risk. Regulation 4123.4, section C, concerns the health of any given relationship between alien species, and I have studied the results of human/Vulcan interactions in order to find such health risks; so far, I have found none. And the last, 5497.2, section C, concerns matters of sexual harassment. Since it is impossible for a Vulcan to be a victim or perpetrator of sexual misconduct, this is also irrelevant. Captain.”

Silence fell. The Captain no longer appeared angry; if anything, he looked defeated. Spock didn’t understand where he had gone wrong.

“Of course. Imminently logical, Mister Spock.” Jim’s voice was quiet, and the official persona had long since disappeared to be replaced with the face of a broken—yes, broken—young man. Spock watched as Jim stood, his wide hands handling the Valentine carefully before handing it back.

“Well, I suppose I should wish you luck then, Spock, and stop keeping you. You obviously have a dinner to go to.”

The pieces fell together with a rapidity that was perfectly normal for Spock; all the same, he wished they hadn’t. The solution to the oddness of the evening was now readily apparent, and the conclusion—previously unconsidered—was worse than he could have imagined.

Jim hadn’t sent it. The Valentine, where ever it had come from, had not been from Jim. The thoughts chorused across his mind, and for the first time, Spock understood the expression “his heart plummeted.”

Of course Jim hadn’t sent it. Of course; Jim liked women, and temporary relationships, and he didn’t seduce his crew. Why had Spock ever thought it was from Jim? The question was simple, as was the answer; he knew why. It was because, more than anything, that was what Spock wanted. He had wanted it to be from Jim, and he had let emotionalism—foolish, illogical emotionalism—make him think that his wants had come true.

But Jim was Jim, and it could never be true.

Spock stood without a word, accepted the card quietly, and left. He didn’t say goodbye, or the appropriate “thank you Captain”; he couldn’t. The walk back to his cabin was no longer pleasant; if anything, it seemed endlessly long, his shame and foolishness preventing him from reaching the quiet confines of his quarters. Meditation; that was what he needed.

 _Of course. Of course._ He should have examined the facts more carefully, but he hadn’t.

The door whished shut behind him, and Spock let the Valentine fall on the nearest surface, breathing deeply. It lay there for a moment before Spock reached out and picked it up again, opening it to search for some clue, any clue as to who had actually sent it. He found none, not even after examining it for several minutes, and felt relief that his observation skills had not failed him. It was just his control that was faltering, then—of course, that was more than enough. He continued to breathe deeply.

Spock wondered if he had damaged their friendship in his haste to leave. He could only assume not; Jim had quite probably not noticed Spock’s erroneous assumption, not if his words were any indication. Jim probably had other plans, in fact, plans with some person who was not Spock. It was perfectly normal behavior for Jim, and spending a romantic holiday alone was not. Maybe one of the colonists they were transporting.

He breathed deeply again, and ignored the fact that—for some reason—his throat had begun to ache. Spock stood motionless for several minutes before he moved to the center of his private quarters, and knelt for meditation. He tried his best not to give the valentine another thought although it was strangely difficult, and he closed his eyes, focusing. The world around him faded.

The chime was loud, and it startled Spock. Unacceptable. He closed his eyes more tightly, and concentrated harder. The doors opened, and Spock didn’t have to look up to know who it was, although he was surprised by Jim’s presence. Nonetheless, he stood in one smooth motion, and felt his face become blessedly blank after only an hour of meditation. Although his body was still in turmoil, he was gratified to know that it didn’t show.

He opened his eyes, and saw Jim’s face was also carefully neutral. Spock wondered why, but he did not ask.

He inclined his head.

“Greetings, Jim.”

Jim closed his eyes, and seemed to search for the strength necessary for…something. He rubbed a hand across his head almost sheepishly, grinned, and Spock couldn’t help but think that the gesture was completely false. More illogical hope, no doubt, and Spock tightened his control further.

“Sorry to interrupt, Spock. I just…realized that I might not have handled the situation in the best way. So, I wanted to say that I’m really, truly happy for the two of you. She must be special.”

Jim was only being kind; he didn’t know that his words were causing pain. Spock repeated this like a mantra in his mind until he could respond appropriately.

“Thank you, Jim, but such congratulations are no longer necessary.”

Jim appeared startled.

“She…changed her mind?” Jim sounded oddly upset, and Spock wondered if his chance for a relationship had truly been so important to him.

“No. I was mistaken in the identity of the sender.”

He had said too much, vague as the statement had been. Jim looked at him oddly, and Spock stared back. He could see Jim processing, accounting for time and the fact that Spock had been meditating when he had entered. The possibilities for the mistake had, in Jim’s mind, been narrowed down to only one person.

Spock saw the instant Jim realized, and he regretted the fact that he couldn’t forever leave his own quarters when shock—pure and simple and painful—registered on Jim’s face.

“Oh, my god. You thought it was _me_.”

Spock decided that maybe he could leave after all, and moved quickly. Avoid. Hide. Try and recover. They all seemed impossible, but Spock didn’t think he could bear the disgust that the realization was sure to bring.

Of course, Jim caught him before he left with a hand curled gently around his upper arm. Spock would have jerked away instinctively and left as fast as he could, except the brush of emotion against his shields gave him pause.

Happiness. Affection. Surprise. Excitement. There was no disgust, and no rejection. Spock darted a glance at Jim, looking for confirmation of the emotions on his face.

Jim was smiling. He was speaking as well, but Spock couldn’t seem to focus on anything except his smile. Jim seemed to realize, and he smiled wider into the sudden silence. The happiness went from a dull presence to an almost physical heat. It was no longer mere contentment—it was _joy_.

“…Spock, if I’d known you wanted anything like a valentine from me, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

It was true. And however long Jim had felt that way, Spock could suddenly tell that it had been for more than a few months, more than a year. It ran deeper, much deeper, than any other emotion Spock had ever felt in another being. And, although his Vulcan heritage told him that he should have been alarmed by the intensity if nothing else, Spock could feel nothing but elation himself.

Jim loved him.

Spock had never been the sort to instinctively reach out for physical contact; even had he not been Vulcan, this would have still been the same. However, this time he found the light pressure of Jim’s hand on his arm to be too little, and he reached out and entwined their fingers with something like reverence. Sensations, emotions exploded behind his eyes, and for once, Spock welcomed them, because they were from _Jim_ , and he wanted everything that Jim could give him.

Although a human should not have been able to see the meaning in the act, Jim obviously saw something, because he moaned quietly and then sealed their mouths together. Spock—who had never been able to appreciate kissing for what it was—suddenly wanted the contact more than anything, and when Jim moved closer, holding their joined hands pressed tightly between their chests, Spock wanted that, too.

And when the affection abruptly turned, edging into lust and scorching the very air around them, Spock welcomed it.

Jim was a passionate person; Spock had known this almost from the beginning. Even so, he was surprised by how quickly Jim maneuvered them into the bedroom, shrugging out of clothes all the while, until there was only skin under Spock’s hands…skin, a heartbeat and quick breaths, and a firm length that twitched against his stomach insistently while a mouth tried to devour his own. Jim was certainly not modest, but Spock couldn’t help but appreciate it as Jim moaned and pressed closer at Spock’s first hesitant touch, the motion sending them crashing backwards onto the bed. Jim flipped them over almost immediately, rolling until Spock was settled firmly between Jim’s thighs and quite content to be there.

The freedom to touch, to taste and worship…Spock had never dreamed of it, but as Jim lay in the dim light and smiled up at him as he moved to more comfortably kneel along the edge of the bed, he couldn’t help but wonder why he never had. His own shields, perhaps.

Now that the opportunity had presented itself, however, Spock knew that a fantasy would never have compared regardless. Spock knew he was staring, and he knew that he was romanticizing what was merely a sexual organ. All the same, he couldn’t help but feel Jim’s penis was interesting and unique, and well worth any wait.

Captivated, Spock reached out a hesitant hand and brushed his fingers lightly against the base. Jim let out a grunt, and Spock—fascinated by the sound—repeated the motion. He could feel the life underneath his hands, the lust, and found it…oddly disturbing. Exciting. Exhilarating. Wonderful.

“ _Spock_.” A hand came down to wrap around his, and Spock was jolted out of his musings by the action. He took one look at Jim’s face, flushed and panting, and felt instantly apologetic.

“My apologies, Jim. What would you like me to do?”

The hand maneuvered his in answer, wrapping his fingers around the smooth column and pumping firmly before releasing him. Spock copied the motion once, and then repeated when Jim moaned. Spock had never thought that a mere sound could affect him in such a way. His motions increased in speed, and he watched as a thin dribble of liquid emerged from the head. He touched the liquid, uncertain if he should wipe it away as he normally would—humans were confusing creatures, after all—but settled on smoothing it under his fingers. His motions became less delicate as the liquid eased the way, and Jim’s hips started jerking erratically.

Spock wasn’t sure if it was a good sign, and stopped.

“ _Dammit_ , Spock!” The curse was followed by a laugh, albeit a strained one, and Spock felt his lips twitch. Nobody could naturally excel at everything, it seemed.

Spock pressed a kiss to Jim’s thigh, an apology, before continuing. The fluid was moving more freely now and giving off a peculiarly strong musky smell. Spock—encouraged by previous sexual experiences—bent his head and gave the tip a quick flick of his tongue. It was bitter, strong, and just this side of salty.

Jim went eerily still, and Spock jerked back quickly as a new fluid—thicker and milky white—erupted in quick spasms from the head.

Spock blinked. Something about the encounter seemed…odd, but as Jim lay there panting, he couldn’t bring himself to analyze it.

Jim caught his breath quickly enough, and propped himself up on his elbows, face rueful.

“Sorry. How long did that take, anyway?”

“Two point four minutes, Jim.” Spock watched, amused, while Jim groaned and collapsed back on the bed. The reaction seemed very dramatic, and quite unnecessary.

“Again, sorry. It’s just…been a while.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“A ‘while,’ Jim?”

Jim propped himself up a second time, this time seemingly with the single intention of glaring at his impassive companion.

“A _while_ , okay?”

Jim flopped back down, and Spock petted his thighs absently. An idea, pleasant but unexpected, was beginning to form in his mind.

“Jim.” A pair of blue eyes looked at him expectantly. “You were…waiting for me?”

A flush that had nothing to do with arousal spread across Jim’s face and neck, and Spock was fascinated.

“ _No._ Dammit. Don’t _put it_ like that!”

Spock ducked his head, and barely smiled against Jim’s skin.

“My apologies, Jim.”

They lay there for a moment—thirteen seconds—before Jim seemed to fully recover, and sat up completely.

“Okay. Okay. How are you, by the way?” Jim gestured at Spock’s lower half, hidden by the edge of the bed. Spock wasn’t surprised to find he was still aroused, although he had admittedly better control over how urgent it was. Sexual release had never been terribly important to him.

“Adequate. You are well?” Spock was still quite concerned with how quickly Jim had spent himself, and he didn’t really understand his explanation. Jim just looked at him, and twisted away to reach into the nearby nightstand. It was a pleasant image, and Spock felt his arousal spike unexpectedly.

“Well enough for this.” Jim tossed him something, a tube, and Spock caught it easily. He examined it quickly, and understood. He felt his penis give an interested twitch where it rested against his thigh, but Spock had his doubts.

“Are you certain? It seems…uncomfortable.”

Jim shrugged, grinning.

“Only at first. Don’t worry; I’ve done this before.”

“You have?” Spock was uncertain if it was the thought of Jim being so casual about anal sex or the thought of Jim having sex with someone else that bothered him, but Jim simply placed his palm on Spock’s shoulder. The touch was filled with affection, pride, amusement, lust…all positive emotions in measured quantities, or so Spock gathered. His doubts disappeared.

Jim shrugged a second time, this time accompanying the motion with quick caress.

“Well, with chicks, mainly. You interested, or not?”

Spock answered honestly.

“I am always interested in you, Jim.”

Jim gave him an odd expression that was half smile, half surprise.

“That’s…good. Wouldn’t want it any other way. Now just put some on your fingers, and let’s get started.”

Spock did so while Jim spread his legs, and his first touch was exploratory, drifting across the insides of his legs and the underside of his genitals in a careful circular motion. Jim’s spent penis twitched, and Spock petted it affectionately before moving his hand down and sliding a single finger inside Jim’s body. Jim grunted, seemingly not expecting the motion so quickly, but he gestured for Spock to continue regardless. Spock did not encounter as much resistance as he’d expected, and he pistoned his digit in and out in a measured motion that had Jim huffing in a not-unpleasant way before long. Spock didn’t truly understand—anatomy was not his specialty, after all—but he found Jim’s reactions satisfying enough. Acceptable. Arousing. The word wasn’t important.

Then suddenly he paused, a slight frown forming on his face.

“This is…unsanitary.”

Jim barked out a strained laugh.

“ _Jesus_ , Spock! Of all the things to be thinking about right now!”

Then he _squirmed_ in what Spock assumed was encouragement, and pressed down. Spock raised an eyebrow, and slid a second finger in. Jim was panting again, and the organ between his thighs was once again firm and responsive to touch. The sight was very attractive, and Spock would have been content to continue on indefinitely had Jim not gestured for him to stop and then pulled him close.

Spock raised an eyebrow when Jim wrapped his legs around him tightly, and pressed against him until the tip of Spock’s penis slid inside him. The sensation was…unexpected, pleasant, but he worried about how very tight Jim seemed. He hesitated.

“Jim…”

Jim kissed him once, hard against the mouth.

“Look, the next time we do this, I’ll make sure to do the _exact same thing_ you’re doing, and you’ll understand exactly why I’m in a hurry. For right now, though, can you just trust me on this, and _move_ already?”

Spock pushed, and Jim shuddered. He pulled back, and Jim whimpered. From there he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried, and their motions became erratic, rapid, and without pause. Spock felt the wetness of Jim’s skin, the tightness of his body, the firmness of his own organ, and then the press of fingers against his own. A surge of lust poured through him, the sensation of being penetrated and penetrating at the same time, and he froze, shuddering as he closed his eyes against the sensation.

He had obviously underestimated the value of sex in human interactions. An error on his part, but he doubted Jim would hesitate to explain to him in more detail, if his tired chuckles were any indication.

A hand patted his hair affectionately, and Spock opened his eyes, looking up.

“I thought that might do it for you. Vulcans and hands, huh?”

“Yes.” Spock didn’t explain, because he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of a stickiness between them, and the very unsanitary nature of his bedclothes.

He made to move to the bathroom, and wasn’t surprised when Jim yanked him back down with a smile and a quick huff of breath when Spock landed on him.

“Oh, leave it. You’re killing the afterglow, and we’ll take care of it in a minute.”

Spock obliged him for a moment, but he couldn’t help but flinch at the touch of liquid against his skin. After it had happened several times, Jim just laughed and pushed him away.

“Oh _fine_ , you clean freak. Sonics, two minutes, no funny business. Then, afterglow.”

They cleaned in as quick and military a fashion as possible, although Jim—despite his assertion of “no funny business”—couldn’t help but steal a few quick kisses. When they emerged and Spock eyed the dirty bedding distastefully, Jim simply knocked it on the floor and settled on the sheets, gesturing for Spock to join him. Spock lay beside him in silence, and welcomed the casual aimless touches against his skin.

There was silence, and peaceful breathing. Spock couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow, and speaking in a very official tone.

“Although I am not very familiar with Terran slang, I believe what occurred this evening might be considered ‘a fast move,’ of which the Valentine said there would be none.”

Jim snorted, and pulled the sheet up around them.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t write that. Besides, I’m sure you’ll still love me in the morning.”

The affection flared up again, and Spock knew he was smiling slightly when Jim stared.

“Undoubtedly.”

The moment was broken by a yawn, and Spock was reminded that it was close to midnight and that Jim had had an early shift that day. There would be time later for “afterglow.”

“Sleep, Jim.”

“You’re not going to get up and wash the blankets, are you?”

That had been exactly his intention, but he would settle for doing so in the morning.

“No, Jim.”

“Good. Just…stay here a while, okay?”

“As you wish, Jim.”

Spock ordered the lights to ten percent, just light enough for him to still see the outline of Jim lying beside him. He didn’t wish to close his eyes, but he was comforted by the fact that Jim would still be there in the morning. As Jim moved closer and the warmth of affection and contentment brushed against him, Spock felt it was enough, and he closed his eyes in silence.

The peace was interrupted by Jim murmuring darkly against his shoulder.

“I _do_ wonder who sent that valentine, though.”

A quick burst of jealousy hit his shields, and Spock sighed.

“It is of no matter. I will explain the situation to them, should it ever come up again.”

Jim agreed with a dark grunt, and Spock’s lips twitched.

“Sleep, Jim.”

The lights faded completely, and sleep soon came, both of them smiling in the darkness.

****

Meanwhile, four decks down, Nyota Uhura of room 5-3E 119 and Dr. Leonard McCoy of room 9-3F 127 were catching their breath in the soft glow of artificial candlelight. Although Leonard hadn’t exactly planned for it to happen the way it had (he’d expected a lot more wining and dining on his part, really) he couldn’t say he complained. In fact, he felt happier than he had in years.

He reached out to pull Nyota close and she came willingly enough, flopping happy and boneless across his chest. He could still feel his heart pounding, and it was more than a little relieving to feel hers in exactly the same state. He guessed he wasn’t too old after all.

Leonard smiled against her hair, and kissed the top of her forehead. She squirmed closer.

“I’m so glad you decided to accept my valentine.” It was a murmur, soft and tired, against her skin.

For a moment there was silence, and then Nyota pulled back slightly, looking at him curiously.

“ _What_ Valentine?”

****

End


End file.
